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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136819">among his peers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dundee998/pseuds/dundee998'>dundee998</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blindfolds, Hazing, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Tongue Piercings, Trans Jonah Magnus, Under-negotiated Kink, Underage Drinking, Unsafe Binding Practice, probably unsanitary piercing conditions, under-negotiated exhibition sex, under-researched piercing practices in the 19th century, vaguely religious homoerotic energys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:35:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dundee998/pseuds/dundee998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll confess, this isn’t a point of research I’ve seen fit to pursue in my education,” Jonah admits, as Barnabas and Eric lead him over to the sounds of amiable chatter to sit perched on someone’s lap - Kristoff’s, by the boisterous laughter and the density of the thighs. “What options am I choosing from?”</p><p>“Well, there’s always the tried and true earring,” drawls Eric, fully in his element, “or something dashing about the nose? You’d look quite mischievous with a nostril ring, like Calvin. Or a septum? Jack’s got an eyebrow ring he could tell you about, I myself have got a rather fun piece of hardware on my clavicle -- Arthur got his tits pierced last year and said they only managed to heal up this August, so I can't say I recommend that-“</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus, Jonah Magnus/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>among his peers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>what's up yall my name is dundee, and this fic is 5,000 words of claiming my rightful place as the originator of the nipple piercing jonah headcanon. viva la titty indulgence</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Barnabas is leading him by the hand down the stairs to the wine cellar. Jonah knows he has a secret he’s keeping from him, one that he holds in his mouth behind that indulgent smile, and Jonah spends the minutes it takes to navigate the dark stairwells trying to kiss it from his lips.<br/>
 <br/>
“You’ll see,” Barnabas promises again and again, laughing quietly as he holds Jonah’s face at arm’s length, until they tumble together through the door into the dimly lit wine cellar. The boys cheer at their entrance, Eric toasting them with a full bottle of 1789, but Jonah only catches a glimpse of their gold-smudged faces before a band of silk is laced over his eyes and tied with nimble fingers.<br/>
 <br/>
“Barnabas,” Jonah warns, his hands already reaching up to tear the band from his eyes, but his friend plucks his wrists out of the air and gives him that kiss he’s been trying to steal for the past hour.<br/>
 <br/>
“Don’t worry about it, Magnus,” says Eric in his ear as Barnabas teases and bites at his lips. “We’ll take good care of you, won’t we lads?” to which the crowd of students answers with a choir of ayes. Something clicks against his teeth and he startles, almost jerking out of the firm grip Barnabas has on his wrists, but Barnabas follows him step for step and licks into his mouth. Jonah tastes/feels something strange on the intruding tongue - a ball bearing? He hums in a request for breath and Barnabas slips away from his mouth, his satisfied smile palpable in Jonah’s blind darkness.<br/>
 <br/>
“Now forgive me, dear friend,” Jonah says, collecting himself even as he feels his face flush with anticipation. “It’s been a long summer since we’ve had a chance to catch up, but I don’t recall any hardware from the last time we met?”<br/>
 <br/>
Barnabas laughs a puff of hot air against Jonah’s face. “That’s a little bit part of the point of all the festivities tonight, Jonah. But you must decide quickly on where you want it, we haven’t got all night.”<br/>
 <br/>
A flash of something bright and vivid lights Jonah up from the inside out at the thought - the taste of the heavy metal hiding behind Barnabas’ sweet soft smile, the implication of each of the young men in this dark little corner of the university carrying their own piece of skin-hot metal somewhere on their bodies…<br/>
 <br/>
“I’ll confess, this isn’t a point of research I’ve seen fit to pursue in my education,” Jonah admits, as Barnabas and Eric lead him over to the sounds of amiable chatter to sit perched on someone’s lap - Kristoff’s, by the boisterous laughter and the density of the thighs. “What options am I choosing from?”<br/>
 <br/>
“Well, there’s always the tried and true earring,” drawls Eric, fully in his element, “or something dashing about the nose? You’d look quite mischievous with a nostril ring, like Calvin. Or a septum? Jack’s got an eyebrow ring he could tell you about, I myself have got a rather fun piece of hardware on my clavicle -- Arthur got his tits pierced last year and said they only managed to heal up this August, so I can't say I recommend that-“<br/>
 <br/>
In the darkness behind the blindfold, Jonah sees a glimpse of his future, then: claiming his own steel, his own weighted ball bearings, kept secret behind clothing and smiles like the other boys welcoming him in this softly rowdy basement. Marking him as one of their own. Marking his body as his own. “That should work quite splendidly, actually.”<br/>
 <br/>
“Which one, sweetheart, the clavicle piercing? Only I don’t think Hugh’s got the materials for that one tonight now that I think of it-“<br/>
 <br/>
“What Arthur had, if you please,” he says, clipped and polite. He can tell they’re staring at him now, feels the prickles of their gaze on his straight spine, on the front of his neatly buttoned up school jacket. He feels a heat rising up in his chest, the longer the silent staring goes on. “And can someone get me a drink, for the love of God, there must be some wine left over from all your carousing.”<br/>
 <br/>
Kristoff laughs and leans up, causing Jonah to carefully readjust his balance on the other boy’s shifting lap. “Got a drink for you right here, sweetheart,” he rasps, tipping the edge of smooth cold glass against his lips. Jonah opens his mouth for a taste of mediocre wine, and gets a horrific mouthful of some sort of fiery devil’s piss instead.<br/>
 <br/>
It burns like hellfire, and he cannot help his nose from sneering at the physical repellence of the substance, but a dozen or more of his peers are watching eagerly for his reaction; it’d be against everything Jonah stands for to not grandstand. He swallows the concoction, throat convulsing in offense, and says to Kristoff loftily, if a touch hoarsely, “I’ll be needing something with a bit more body if you wanted me to choke, darling,” and the room cheers at the top of their boisterous lungs.<br/>
 <br/>
What follows then, as the good sir Hugh readies his materials, is a good old-fashioned, down-to-earth drunken revelry. Jonah loses track of the drinks he samples from a dozen different tipsy schoolboys: wines and whiskeys, scotches and vodkas, just a sip of each, tinged with the faint salt of saliva from their lips on the glasses.<br/>
 <br/>
With each taste granted to him, more hands brush against his body; they come to rest against his shoulder blade and curve around his waist. They lean him back carefully, arranging him across so many limbs, so many hands unbuttoning his crisply tucked in shirt, fingers plucking at the linen strips that bind his shape to a masculine shape. Three boys confer with each other on how to negotiate the wrapping, tipsy and confused, until Jonah finally waves them off with a frustrated clumsy arm, telling them to just cut through it already.<br/>
 <br/>
The rough snip of scissors cuts through the quiet din of banter, and he doesn’t realize how hot he’d become until a refreshing chilly wind falls on his sweating sides. He sighs in relief at the touch of cool fingers, cool kisses to his wrists and his collarbone. When the last of the linen strips fall away, he can feel their stares on what’s been revealed; for a breath, for a heartbeat, he anticipates what they’ll think of him.<br/>
 <br/>
He knows how cruel schoolboys can be. He’s one of the crueler ones in this particular edifice of education, after all.<br/>
 <br/>
One of them draws in a hushed breath; whether it’s in admiration, or something else, Jonah can’t know, and it tangles his guts into knots to not know what they’re thinking, what kind of look is on their faces - is it admiration? is it hunger? is it a greedy leer? Do they dare judge him? He moves his hand towards his head, intent on ending this mockery at his expense here and now, when Barnabas snatches at his wrist.<br/>
 <br/>
“Christ take my soul, that’s a sweet sight.”<br/>
 <br/>
The sentiment is hushed, under their breath. Reverent.<br/>
 <br/>
Jonah breathes in, for the sensation of feeling his ribs expand around his lungs. He feels their attention focus and narrow in on his torso; maybe he’s just hallucinating what he’s imagined late at night, so very many nights, that their gaze isn’t that of slobbering beasts at a slab of steak, but something more…<br/>
 <br/>
Something like supplicants at an altar, staring up at the idol of their adoration. <br/>
 <br/>
“He is that, I’ll grant you,” murmurs Barnabas, his thumb firm on the heavy pulse in Jonah’s wrist. “Wish the rest of him was as sweet as his appearance.” Fingernails pinch lightly at his pulse point, making him flinch and twist; there must be some sort of signal given, because the boys take this opportunity to explore his body anew now. <br/>
 <br/>
There are kisses at his throat, tongues at the softness of his stomach, someone skates their hands up his sides and slots their fingers against his ribs, and no one, not one of them touches him as anything other than a thing to be worshipped.<br/>
 <br/>
Jonah floats on the swelling waves of their devotion for a timeless moment, until Barnabas slides his hand over Jonah’s to rub lightly over his knuckles.<br/>
 <br/>
A large, warm hand folds onto Jonah’s. “How are you faring, dear heart,” Barnabas murmurs in his ear, low and intimate. As Jonah’s mouth is currently filled with someone’s fingers, rough and tasting of riding glove-leather, he is incapable of responding in kind; in lieu of words, he squeezes Barnabas’s hand once, then slips out of his dry grasp. His fingertips grope and find the thin delicate skin of Barnabas’s wrist, and he smiles at the hushed inhalation when he skims over soft raised veins; behind his eyes he can see the faint blue of those fragile lines, and he traces them now down the length of that firm muscle with communicated greed. <br/>
 <br/>
“Think he’s nearly ready, Hugh,” Barnabas says quietly.<br/>
 <br/>
“Mm,” Jonah moans around the fingers in his mouth, and spits them out with a gasp. He grasps at Barnabas’s front and drags him down for a long, lingering kiss, tongue shoving into his faithful friend’s mouth to taste that steel he’ll be sporting within the hour. “C’mon,” he says into Barnabas’s mouth. “I’ll be waiting months and months before I get your hands on me again. I want to feel you.” <br/>
 <br/>
Barnabas laughs and acquiesces easily, and cups his hands over Jonah’s front to knead at the yielding tissue. “I hardly won’t be touching you, darling; you know I can’t stay away from you for long.”<br/>
 <br/>
“You know what I mean,” Jonah snarls, then sighs high and shivers at the familiar pinch of Barnabas’s broad fingertips at his nipples.<br/>
 <br/>
“So vicious, but so easy,” Barnabas notes matter-of-factly, touching and cupping and pinching at delicate skin. “You’re always so quick to bite, and then you fall apart in my hands just as readily. You are impossible, my dear.” Jonah hears a rustling sound as Barnabas moves around him, his large hand splayed across Jonah’s breastbone, and then he loses track of quite a lot of things as Barnabas’s hot wet mouth envelops a soft peak.<br/>
 <br/>
He can hear the other boys crowing in appreciation as his back arches against the bed of their thighs and limbs, he can feel them touching his body, but all his mind can focus on is the familiar press of those fingers he knows so well, and the rasp of that talented tongue on his overwhelmed nerve-endings. The little metal ball feels like a fire-warmed brand against his skin, and Barnabas, surely the devil himself, drags it across his breast in dizzying patterns, before dragging his nipple between his teeth.<br/>
 <br/>
Jonah bucks his hips against the arms that keep him down and contained, his hands escaping the boys’ curious grasp to bury in Barnabas’s mane of heavy curls. Barnabas smiles against his breast, he can feel his friend’s lips curling against his hypersensitive skin, and he just knows the bastard’s going to do something that will ruin him. He tightens his hands in soft hair in anticipation, but Barnabas shifts over anyway; Jonah’s never been able to shift or stop that tall, sturdy frame unless Barnabas humored him. Barnabas does not feel like humoring him now, and mercilessly latches onto the other breast to give it that same achingly sweet treatment, his spare hand slipping over Jonah’s abandoned chest to tweak the sensitized saliva-slick nipple. He sucks, long and hard, his fingers twisting, and Jonah feels an arc of lightning flash between his chest and his groin, making his back arch against the bruising hands holding him down. <br/>
 <br/>
With a final kiss to the dip of his collarbone, Barnabas takes his leave of Jonah’s chest, resting his hand affectionately on Jonah’s ribcage as he pants for breath, and Jonah can hear the self-satisfied grin on his face when he informs Hugh that Jonah is most definitely ready now. “You fucking whore,” Jonah wheezes, as the other boys descend their hands eagerly on the newly freed skin made slick and sensitive with its recent ministrations.<br/>
 <br/>
“Wonder what that makes you, old friend.”<br/>
 <br/>
Jonah has no rebuttal to that, as someone is shooing the hands away from his body and creating a spot of respite from the overwhelming waves of touch and kiss. The man of the hour, Jonah assumes; the heretofore voiceless ‘Hugh’, who seems to have knelt down beside him and is palpating the swell of his chest clinically with a gloved hand. “Christ, what a mess,” the piercer mutters under his breath, and then a cold wet cloth presses down on his hot, sensitized flesh, and he flinches against the contrast.<br/>
 <br/>
“None of that now, Jonah, you’re the one who wanted one last hurrah,” he hears Barnabas murmur, and feels his friend’s broad hands heavy and steadying on his shoulders. “Breathe for me, angel.”<br/>
 <br/>
Out of his mind with nerves and anticipation and that infuriating, godforsaken blindness, Jonah can do nothing but obey, focusing on the musty air and smelling the faint whiff of cold mist from outside. Hugh finishes wiping down his chest with a final swipe over his nipples, then makes sounds of rummaging in whatever case of implements he brought with him to this bacchanalia tonight. “Straight barbell ought to work, right?” he asks; Jonah tilts his head up where Barnabas must be hanging over him, and he must answer for Jonah, because Hugh grunts and continues to assemble his tools.<br/>
 <br/>
Someone gets bored of waiting and starts drawing designs on his shoulder with a warm finger.<br/>
 <br/>
Another reaches for his head to comb through his hair.<br/>
 <br/>
Hugh’s cool gloved wrist rests on his breastbone, and he feels cold ink jotted on his skin with a sharp nib.<br/>
 <br/>
Jonah makes a sound that he hopes isn’t a whine and squirms under Barnabas’s hands, who laughs lightly. “Easy,” he says. Jonah has no idea whether he’s talking to him or to the faceless people touching him and claiming him in this moment before it starts, a moment that feels like it’s being stretched into infinity.<br/>
 <br/>
After a breath, he opens his mouth, intent to ask Barnabas exactly who is meant to be taking it easy, when Eric speaks up out of the blue: “Bit of a sting, Magnus, gird your loins.”<br/>
 <br/>
Jonah barely has time to wonder where Eric came from when Hugh finally aligns the needle with the marks he’d left on Jonah’s puckered skin, and—<br/>
 <br/>
—and the needle sinks into his tissue. It takes a second to realize what’s even happened. Another second before it starts to burn. It becomes white hot and furious under his skin, and someone claims his mouth to distract him from the wretched piercing of flesh. He can barely breathe against their soothing tongue, and all the hands that are smoothing down his sides and caressing his face feel like awful firebrands on his skin, all of it is too much, far too much —<br/>
 <br/>
“For fuck’s sake, would you idiots give it a rest? I haven’t even got the fucking bar in.” Hugh’s voice cuts across the hot agony. Jonah tries to breath in, twisting his head away from the person who was trying to kiss his head out of the pain, and exhales shakily.<br/>
 <br/>
“Lookit that, is that a tear?” A finger swipes across his cheek. He blinks, uncertain under the silk around his head, and feels wetness gathered on his lashes and soaking into the fabric. “Didn’t know he had it in him, to be honest - must be wicked fucking painful if it’s got our Magnus leaking like this.” The sting keeps spreading through his flesh, like a hot coal cooking him slowly from the inside out. He breathes in, and out, feeling Barnabas’s hands stroking his neck softly with his thumbs. “You remember last April with Jack? All he got was a septum, and the poor bastard sobbed for half an hour. Don’t think he shut up till Kristoff took pity on him and fucked his flat arse.”<br/>
 <br/>
“Move over, Angus, you pillock.” He feels something moist and cool at his brow, something that drags and collects what must be sweat, a cotton texture that pulls at damp hairs that stick to the skin. “Get the young lord some ice, Calvin, he’s sweated out half his body weight.” And yes, yes he can feel it on his skin, the droplets gathering on his face and chest, and he can feel their gazes gathering in crevices as well, dripping down his sides as he takes another breath. Calvin pulls through, apparently, as someone rubs a chip of ice against his lips to let it melt. His tongue slips out and tastes the cool meltwater, and the chip is placed on its tip like a pill to melt against the heat of him.<br/>
 <br/>
He sucks on the ice slowly, letting the chill bleed through his head, and notes from a place slightly to the left of everything that he can feel the invading material in his flesh move, can feel as what’s probably the needle exits his body, leaving the bar of the piercing behind. The ice melts into water as he feels Hugh’s deft fingers screw the ball onto the empty side of the bar, and then wipe down the wounded breast with another clean cold cloth.<br/>
 <br/>
He takes a moment, then, to appreciate what has been done to his body: he has been chosen. He has been marked at the hands (so many hot, eager hands) of his peers. The name Jonah Magnus has become weightier by two grams, by steel that burns like hellfire at his breast. The headiness of the thought swirls with the alcohol in his bloodstream, lifts him to a higher place where the pain is a physical thing he can touch and examine, where he can observe himself in his own pain, and finds a strange sense of satisfaction in being able to claim it. The dull pounds of flesh that have weighed him down all his life have been given new context, new meaning, and he’ll seize that opportunity for all its worth. <br/>
 <br/>
The pain ignites him, devours him, and from the ashes he rises, given new shape. <br/>
 <br/>
In a dizzy haze, he hears the boys commenting on his state as they pet at his body. Someone leans over and presses sweet ice against his lips again, and when he parts his mouth to take it in, a slick tongue follows suit. He shivers at the contrast and cranes his head up into the kiss, letting their iced cold hand cup his cheek.<br/>
 <br/>
“God’s teeth, he is a sight, isn’t he.”<br/>
 <br/>
“Not a bad choice, lads, not bad at all.”<br/>
 <br/>
“Excellent choice, Bennett, where’d you steal your little lordling from anyway?”<br/>
 <br/>
“Reckon he’s ready for the next one?”<br/>
 <br/>
“Dunno. Magnus, old thing, you ready? Honestly, Eric, would you stop snogging him for a moment so he can answer the bloody question.”<br/>
 <br/>
Jonah is still swimming in strange euphoria and feverish sweat, and it takes another few moments of hands stroking his body for him to realize that they’re asking him a question. He blinks against the tear-damp silk as he attempts to process what’s happening now; Eric leaves one last ice-chilled press against his lips before lifting away with a low, satisfied chuckle. “Go on, little lordling, think you’re ready to complete your set?”<br/>
 <br/>
“Let-I want to see, let me see,” he gasps. The boys laugh at him, and hold his arms down when he goes to try and shove the silk up.<br/>
 <br/>
“You can see when we’re done, right lads?”<br/>
 <br/>
“No peeking, Magnus, or we might not finish the other one.”<br/>
 <br/>
“Don’t worry, my bonny boy, we’ll make it worth your while,” and someone shoves their palm over his crotch and gives it sweet, sweet friction. From the sheer size of the palm, it’s probably Calvin, it feels like the hand could span his pelvis. He aches, and bucks into the touch to see stars behind his eyelids, and bursts out, “Fine, yes, give it to me you pieces of shit, I’m fucking ready enough, aren’t I-“<br/>
 <br/>
“Filthy mouth,” one of them comments, and takes his mouth again to kiss him deep and dirty while Hugh bears the needle and begins lining it up. At the touch of the needle, though, his body flinches violently, and they have to hold onto his torso tight with broad calloused palms to keep him still. </p><p>"Wait-" he snaps suddenly. His lungs aren't filling the right way, he can't breathe - "Stop. Stop it. Wait."</p><p>A pause in the rabble, their hands frozen on his body, and then Hugh draws away. "Right, boys, give him a moment. Bennett, a word?" <br/>
 <br/>
They leave off the touches, and he's been abandoned to existing in his head and the frustration boiling in it as they watch him in his vulnerability. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair, this is his body, he decides what to do with it, it is not allowed to… to be afraid without his consent. It’s just pain. He’s lived through enough pain. By all fucking rights he should be able to claim it as his own by this point. Barnabas touches his wet cheeks gently, warm and steady. “You trust me,” he says; Jonah is close enough that he can feel the vibration of the subdued bass in his chest. <br/>
 <br/>
It’s inflected like a question; both of them know it’s not.<br/>
 <br/>
“I think I have a solution to the problem of keeping our Jonah to sit still, good friends,” Barnabas says. His voice is still low and quiet, but the room hushes when he speaks; Jonah imagines every one of them in that dark drafty basement looking at Barnabas, looking at Jonah prone and framed between those large hands on his shoulders. “What my dear Jonah needs is a bit of a distraction; the kind he can’t afford to ignore or push away. Kristoff, if you please?” A warm hand slides over his inner thigh and tugs his knee to the side, presenting him on display to the room.<br/>
 <br/>
The heat of their gazes pierces Jonah as thoroughly as steel, sending a throbbing jolt to his cock that nearly undoes him then and there. He can barely hear Barnabas over the rush of blood. “Calvin, would you care to do the honors? A big strapping young man like yourself ought to keep our ‘little lord’ well occupied, don’t you think, boys?” There’s a knowing undertone there, something imperceptible to the room but clanging like a bell to Jonah’s intimate familiarity with Barnabas’s voice. Busy hands begin the process of unbuttoning his trousers, as Jonah’s mind furiously catalogues the new information he’s just received.<br/>
 <br/>
Calvin, dear God. Jonah pictures the young man in his mind, an upperclassman with the frame of a smith, barrel-chested and heavy-browed. He pictures Calvin in an abandoned classroom, trousers down revealing a delightfully massive cock, one which Jonah had spent a highly educational afternoon attempting to take down his throat. It had been exhilarating to take him, as a lecture droned on in the next classroom over, and Jonah had delighted in pushing the poor boy to his limit to see if he could eke one of those low cut-off grunts to become something deeper and longer. He still prides the moment he got the mountain of a young man to say his name in reverent tones as one of his highest achievements of the previous year.<br/>
 <br/>
The only problem is thus: Jonah doesn’t know how Barnabas knew about that.<br/>
 <br/>
He’d kept their tryst well concealed, as well covered up as a young man who’s spent his entire life dealing in secrets could; if he might say so himself, he’s had enough experience with the practice to be good at it, and trusts himself wholly to have accounted for contingencies - Calvin himself was as precisely chosen as the day and space, as a respected peer of discretion and diplomacy. So then, what evidence could he have possibly left behind that Barnabas would have stumbled upon? What did he miss?<br/>
 <br/>
Or rather, he wonders with a jolt as his shoes are unlaced and slid from his feet to let his trousers be tugged down his calves, was the thing he didn’t account for in Barnabas himself? Jonah has logged a hundred or so fond glances that his friend has passed his way over the past year; was there something buried in that open affection he missed? Has there always been something with subtle hooks hiding in gentle, soft-spoken Barnabas? How long has there been a considering glint in his eyes that Jonah hadn't caught somehow, a clue as to how much Barnabas has been paying attention to his comings and goings?<br/>
 <br/>
Jonah pictures his friend, then, glancing at Jonah’s back with a dark glint in his eyes. Barnabas perhaps noting Jonah’s chosen acquaintances, Barnabas lurking along the paths to his favored haunts, Barnabas carefully rummaging through his belongings to see whose colognes Jonah’s been mingling with - He hisses at the sudden ache that answers those thoughts, a hook drawn through him that tugs with sudden viciousness at the anticipation of pleasure. He feels empty, hot and slick where his thighs meet.  <br/>
 <br/>
A finger grazes his slit with unbearable familiarity. He knows Barnabas licks the slick off his finger, knows it like he knows the gleam of irritated fondness in his warm eyes. “He’s ready, boys. Pick him up.”<br/>
 <br/>
“You heard the man! Up we go, Magnus.” They pick him up bodily-- which is a good thing, because his limbs have gone numb and pliant with overstimulation-- and perch him in Calvin’s broad, sturdy lap.<br/>
 <br/>
“Hello again,” Calvin rumbles in Jonah’s ear, the timbre sending shivers down his spine.<br/>
 <br/>
“Hello again,” Jonah replies breathlessly, and then hands are lifting him up onto that massive cockhead, the one he’d been straining to take in his mouth only last semester. “Oh, oh God,” Jonah says, instead of “Barnabas, please,” but his plea is heard anyway.<br/>
 <br/>
“Right here, angel. I’m right here.” Calvin’s massive hands rest on his hips, and Barnabas places his on Jonah’s neck and ribs, and kisses him so sweetly as Jonah sinks slowly and achingly onto Calvin’s cock. It’s splitting him open, he thinks, but it’s alright, because Barnabas is teasing his mouth again with that hot little ball of metal. He could be split in two right here, Barnabas would stitch him back together. The cockhead breaches his entrance, and starts its inexorable grind against that soft, sensitive flesh below his stomach that lights up his spine with flickers of sparking tinder fire. Barnabas breathes into his mouth, and it reminds him to fill up his lungs as he impales himself fraction by infinite fraction on Calvin’s cock.<br/>
 <br/>
“You’re doing wonderfully,” Barnabas quietly says, lips barely moving against Jonah’s skin. “You’re a sight to behold, Jonah. So perfect like this. We should get one of the art students to come down here; we’ll impale you on one of your friends’ cocks like this for the afternoon and let them paint you in oils. Maybe then I’ll finally be able to keep you where you belong.”<br/>
 <br/>
The words send a shudder through Jonah, enough that he can almost feel that climax around the corner, with him stuffed so tight that the sweet ache of it almost washes over the dizzying pain on his breast; which is the point, he supposes, as he realizes that he’s dropped the rest of the way onto Calvin’s monster of a cock. He breathes in shakily, and laughs a little at the way he can feel his insides straining to accommodate their outsized visitor. “Well, darling? Satisfied that I’m distracted enough?”<br/>
 <br/>
“Far easier to satisfy me than you, darling,” Barnabas says with a smile in his voice; then he chucks Jonah familiarly under the chin with a crooked finger. “He’ll behave now, Hugh.”<br/>
 <br/>
“About Goddamn time,” mutters the piercer, and this time, when Jonah feels the prick of the needle finding its mark, he exhales, focusing on the weight of Calvin’s hands on his hips and the clench of his insides around that thick, overwhelming length.</p><p>Here, now, he takes the time to note the development of the pain in his mind as it happens: the way it goes from an uncomfortable piercing sensation, to a blooming ache that somehow spreads throughout his chest, and then. </p><p>Shit. </p><p>Shit, he misjudged. </p><p>Where the last one settled like a hot coal, now it feels like a furnace at full blast. He crushes his eyes tight against the sudden rolling waves of agony, and notes distantly how Calvin groans underneath him, a deep rumble that settles into his bones. The young man’s cock throbs hard inside him, stretching him out further, pulling Jonah’s mind taut between the wildfire pain and the deep, filling ache.</p><p>He nearly passes out there, he thinks, with his head lolling against the crook of Calvin’s neck and shoulder; hard to tell under the blindfold, how much of the world is passing him by while Hugh finishes off the piercing with deft fingers. One last wipe over the affected area, and there.</p><p>Jonah breathes, in and out. Shudders at the pull on his muscles. Everything feels so distant, like this. Filled to the brim with pain and a pretty cock, filled with a room full of attention narrowed on him. </p><p>“God blind me, that’s a sight,” someone whispers in the empty silence, and that rouses him back up. He props himself up with his hands on Calvin’s massive thighs, and once he’s finally upright, the blindfold is snatched off his head.</p><p>A mirror’s been placed in front of him, and he can see</p><p>
  <i>everything</i>
</p><p>The boys are piled on either side of the couch, with more spilling over from the back, gripping their hands white against the upholstery, their eyes rapt on him. Calvin’s massive body frames him like a painting, where he’s spread out obscenely speared on Calvin’s cock: on display for everyone to see. </p><p>His skin’s been marked with their mouths, no stretch of flesh more reddened with attention than his chest, and there, there it is, he can see, the silvery glint - </p><p>There on Calvin, a loop of steel cornering his nose -</p><p>A dark-eyed boy with rings at his eyebrow - </p><p>Eric with his shirt unbuttoned low to show the steel sparkling at his collar -</p><p>And there’s Barnabas, at his side, where he’s always been, where he fits perfectly, where Jonah thinks he might never run fast enough or far enough to leave him behind, pulling him in for a kiss as his other hand drags slick from where Jonah is leaking around Calvin’s cock and rubs it against Jonah, oh - </p><p>“Good boy,” Barnabas whispers in his ear and presses his fingertips down against his cock, and -</p><p> </p><p>He falls apart, speared on the eyes of his peers all on his body, and by the cock Barnabas chose for him, and by two tiny glinting bars of steel that prove he was here.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i spent the entirety of this process having the eye horror server lob projectiles of hearts, affection, and horny face emojis at me, for which i am forever indebted to them. </p><p>special thanks to chuckee cheese, for prompting me to start leaking jonah magnus musings all over the place, and also for the incredible art that outright killed me; </p><p>to sasha elias, for the first-person account and for the support;</p><p>to spiraldistortion for being so god damn inspiring and prolific and SUPPORTIVE; </p><p>to jasper, for helping keep all us wild animals wrangled properly; </p><p>to procrastinatingbookworm for helping me iron out the quirks and helping me finetune the polished product; </p><p>to vincent (@destinyllama on twitter) for SO much inspirational art, oh my god; </p><p>and every single other person who hooted and hollered at me through every step of the way, i love you guys so so much ;~;</p></blockquote></div></div>
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